


Welcome Home

by origamigoose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Bulimia, Cutting, Depression, Drug Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt Dave, Hurt Karkat, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Loathing, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/origamigoose/pseuds/origamigoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Karkat wants is to feel loved, and all Dave wants is to feel at all.</p>
<p>This is an AU.<br/>Scar= Lost Love<br/>Red Line= In Love<br/>Black Line= Confessed and Returned Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Bulimia, Cutting, Drug Abuse, Self-Loathing, Depression, Physical Abuse, Starving.

“Hey, Dave?” Karkat sits at his desk in his room, on the phone with Dave. Dave is complaining. About anything he can think of at the moment, he was on a rant.  
“Uh, yeah Karkat?” It took Dave a moment to register that Karkat had said something, but when it did he gave Karkat his full attention.  
“Do…do you think I’m a pretty boy?” Karkat had heard this term slung at him as an insult earlier that day, but he couldn't see how being a pretty boy was bad. It’s better than being a not pretty boy.  
“What the fuck do you mean, Karkat?” Dave did think that Karkat was a pretty boy. He thought Karkat was a really pretty boy, but Karkat didn’t know he was gay. Was Karkat trying to come out to him? Or did Karkat mean the bad pretty?  
“You know damn well what I fucking mean, Dave. Am. I. Pretty.”  
“Well, no. I guess not.” Dave heard a little intake of breath behind the phone, did he answer right? When Karkat replied his voice shook.  
“Thanks, Dave. I’ll talk to you later.” Karkat hung up the phone. He sat back in his swivel chair and looked down at his arm. So many scars running up his forearm, and the one red line on the inside of his wrist. Why would he do this to himself again. Why would he let himself come even close to falling in love when before now it’s led to nothing but… scars. Literally. Why couldn't he have transferred to literally any other school, or moved to any other state.  
His dad was so excited when Karkat got his first red line, he was practically elated. When he came home a few months later with tears in his eyes and a scar on his wrist, his father consoled him. As well as the second, third, fourth and fifth time. Soon after his father just started shaking his head and walking away, and Karkat started wearing sweaters. He didn't want to be reminded that whoever he loved hated him. Including himself.  
At the age of 14, Karkat had his first drink of alcohol. He got the bottle from his friend Gamzee, who was almost never sober, but when he was, he had iron fists. He lost all cognitive thought and ended up taking his sweater off. Gamzee of course saw his scars, and asked if he could name them all. Karkat, of course, could. He pointed at every scar, naming them, being significantly fewer than now.  
‘Terezi, Aradia, Kanaya, John, Jade, Latula, Porrim, Mituna, Rufioh, Kankri, Eridan, Sollux, Damara, and Nepeta.’ Listing oldest to newest, starting near the bend of his elbow. Gamzee looked at him, astounded. He lifted his sleeve to reveal one solid black line.  
‘Tavros.’ Gamzee said. Never before had Karkat had a black line, only red and scars. Why could this abusive druggie get even one black line, when Karkat only got scars. Karkat reached out and ran a finger over Gamzee’s line. He began to cry. Karkat pushed himself upwards and made a B-line for the bathroom, where over the side of the bathtub he dry heaved until he passed out.  
Karkat was pulled out of his memories by his ringtone going off, ‘Running up that hill- Placebo’. He quickly picked up his phone and checked the caller I.D. It’s Dave. He doesn't answer, instead he brings his phone along with him him and sits it on the counter of the sink in his bathroom.  
“Maybe I’d be a pretty boy if I were thinner, or had shorter hair.” Karkat laid his hand on the mirror, then screamed and slammed both of his hands against the reflective surface. His father didn't respond to his screams anymore, he stopped responding when he started beating him. As Karkat listened to the singing of his phone, and the words Dave said ringing through his head, he knelt over the toilet and forced his fingers down his throat.  
Further. Further. Skinnier. Skinner. Eat less, be prettier.  
Karkat sat up from his knelt position, and wiped his mouth off with his sleeve. He pushed himself up off the floor, and shakily flushed the toilet. He grabbed his phone from the sink, and stumbled into his room. He then checked his phone, which had 12 missed calls from Dave. And one text. He quickly checked the text, which read ‘You better answer your goddamn phone, Karkat. So help me god, I will come over there.’ Karkat just layed on his bed and listened as his phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Then silence. He sat on his bed and listened to the nothing.  
He checked his phone 15 missed calls, thirty minutes since he hung up on Dave, and there was a knock on his front door. It couldn't be dad, he was still gone and he would be for a a few days. He got up and slipped on a pair of pajama pants. The doorbell started to ring, and the knocks were seemingly endless.  
“KARKAT, OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR.” It’s Dave, of course.  
“I’m coming, hold on.” Karkat opened the front door to see Dave, who was either red from exertion or anger. Probably anger. It didn't matter, Dave pushed himself into the house and closed the door behind him.  
“Manners much?” That might have been a bit far.  
“Manners, Kay? You want to talk about MANNERS? How about the courtesy of answering your goddamn phone when I call 15 TIMES? Or even answering my texts so I know you’re not dead.” Dave looked down at Karkat and he had tears welling in his eyes, he’d forgotten his sunglasses in his rush over here.  
“How’d you get here so fast?”  
“I only live across town.”  
“It’s a big town.”  
“You’re my best friend, the town parted like the Red Seas for me to get here.”  
“What do you want?”  
“I want you to talk to me.”  
“”What if I don’t have anything to say?”  
“Then I’ll talk. I’m worried about you, you’re sick. And when you don’t answer your phone I worry that you've finally gone too far and I’ll never see you again. I want you to get help because I’m worried sick. If not for yourself, then for me.”  
Not a pretty boy, Karkat. He thinks you’re fat.  
Karkat got the itching feeling again to throw up anything that’d be willing to come up.  
“Stop telling me what to do Dave. I’m independent, I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.” Dave looks really upset about this.  
“Kay, please, if you’d ju-”  
“Dave. Stop. I don’t know why you’re trying so hard to get me to change, when nothing’s wrong with me.”  
“Nothing’s wrong? Why are you so fucking stupid? Can’t you see that what you’re doing to yourself isn't good?”  
“Get. Out.”  
“What?”  
“I SAID GET OUT.” Karkat had begun to cry, and Dave realizes what he said.  
“Kay, I’m so-”  
“Get the fuck out of my house. Do not come back. I will not put up with the only person I thought I could trust making me feel like shit. Get. Out. You fucking asshole.” Karkat begins to push Dave toward the door.  
“Kay, please.” Karkat just ignores him, and pushes him out of the threshold of the door. Dave grabs Karkats sleeve, and Karkat pulls away.  
“Who is that?” Karkat looks down and notices his sleeve has slipped up past the red line on his wrist.  
“It doesn't matter.” Karkat says as he closes the door on Dave. Dave stands outside of Karkats house for another few hours. When he begins the trek home, the city seems bleak and silent. Inside his head, he thinks of all the thing he could have said to Karkat instead of what he did say. He wishes that he didn't forget his sunglasses, the afternoon sun is harsh on his eyes. He pulls his jacket tightly around him, even in the sun he can’t escape the cold feeling inside.  
On his way he decides to try Karkat one last time before he actually got home. After two rings the phone goes to voice mail.  
‘This is Karkat, if it’s important leave a message and I’ll try to get back to you. If it’s not, then don’t bother.’  
“Hey, Kay. It’s Dave. I’m really fucking sorry about what I said. I didn't mean to hurt you. Can you please call me back?”  
He pressed the red ‘End Call’ button, and heaved his way up the stairs to his apartment with his brother.  
“‘Sup Bro. I’m home.” He set his keys in a bowl on the table beside the door. He went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, he keeled and took out a bottle of apple juice. He stood and grabbed a package of Oreo's from the cabinet. He turns on his heel with his loot, and heads toward his bathroom. He opens the bathroom cabinets door, and grabs his last bottle of Hydrocodone. He’d have to remember to pester Lalonde for some more.  
Dave slipped into his bedroom, and locked the door behind him. He sat at his makeshift desk, and set down his items. Both the A.J. and the Oreo's on the right, Hydro on the left, with two 200 milligram tablets in his hand. Dave popped the medication in his mouth, and washed it down with Apple Juice. He laid back and waited for the mellow to kick in.  
Dave often took a variety of drugs, trying to find the peace with himself that he wasn't given at birth. Like Karkat, he has an extreme distaste for everything. Unlike Karkat, instead of trying to please the world he’s just trying to please himself. The only person he has decided valuable enough to actually want to make happy is Karkat.  
Dave threw his head back as his mind began to space out, and his worries flew away. He looked back up and opened his laptop. His favorite pastime of being high was snacking, hence the Oreo's. He opened the new package of Oreo's, and turned his computer on. He directed his browser to his favorite cartoon site, it’s something fun to do when out of your mind. He started watching ‘Tom and Jerry’, so he didn't hear his phone ring.  
‘It’s Dave, leave a message at the incessant beep, or don’t. Whatever.’ The voice mail answered.  
“Hey, It’s Kay. I’m sorry about what I said. I really am. I want to talk to you. You’re probably high as fuck right now, and that’s alright. Can we just… I’m sorry.” Karkat says over the phone, he’s crying on his end. Dave can’t hear his phone, only the sound of Tom being chased after with a broom to the background of funny music.  
Sometimes when Dave does certain drugs, it makes him really tired. That’s what led up to him taking his clothes off to change. On his arm was one red line and nothing else, although on his legs was an entirely different story. His legs had been ravaged by the teeth of knives, and the sharp ends of razors. The first scar he’d ever made had only just now begun to fade. Dave ran his fingertips over the ridges and thought that they felt like brail; telling a story for only the special ones who understand the language.  
Dave quickly pulled on his pajama pants quickly, and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Dave ran a finger over the solid line on his wrist. This one didn't rise up with scar tissue, it was like a tattoo. Dave can’t read this one red line like a story, and it makes him upset. Although he knows the beginning, and different variations of the end, but god did he hate the middle. The not knowing, the unfairness of the means to which the knowledge must be obtained, everything about the situation wasn't right.  
Quietly, before Dave fell asleep, he whispered to himself “You’re right Kay. I’m an asshole, I just wish I could be your asshole.”  
Across town, Karkat is sitting down to dinner alone, as his father has seemed to have just vanished from the house for the evening. Karkat doesn't know why he even makes dinner anymore since it won't be kept down for longer than an hour. He sits at the small four person dining room table, looking at the plate of limp salad with a dollop of ranch on the side. He sighs and pushes the plate away, getting up from the table. He checks his phone to see if Dave has called him back. Dave is either high, or too pissed off that Karkat yelled at him to want anything to do with him ever again.  
Karkat ambled up the steps to his bedroom, and plugged his phone into it’s charger. Karkat undressed and went to take a shower. While in the shower Karkat let the water pressure fall over him, while he pretended it was rain. He used to love the rain. When he stepped out of the shower and grabbed his towel, he noticed himself in the mirror. To thin to look natural, but not thin enough. His brain constantly waging a war against his body.  
Eat, and be fat. Don’t eat, and be hungry. Eat then throw up, and be ashamed of eating in the first place.  
The only solid compromise his head and stomach could make was that nothing could linger for more than an hour. The porcelain rim of his toilet bowel called to him, whispering that if he does it again he’ll feel better. He shakes his head, and begins to walk away. He didn't even eat anything for dinner. He’s proud that for now he can say no, for now.  
When Karkat went back to his room, he checked his phone. Still no new messages. Karkat sighed, and grabbed his pajamas. He was tired, and his body couldn't handle much more stress today. He changed and flopped back on to his bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling. Karkat caressed his inner wrist, wondering if anyone could ever love him. He fell asleep thinking about Dave.  
Dave was waking up from his drug induced sleep state, finding that his phone has one new voice mail and not much else. Listening to the voice mail, he starts to cry. He feels like he should talk to Karkat, about the ‘nameless’ red line, and maybe if they get around to it maybe they could have an intervention. For the both of them. Dave decides to call Kay, he’s a little tired of of the back and forth between the two of them. The first time he calls the voice mail picks up, the second time is the same. The third time he calls Karkat answers the phone.  
“What the fuck do you want, it’s like two a.m.?” Karkat sounds very drowsy, and pissed.  
“Hey Vantes.” Dave can hear the shuffle of sheets through the other end of the phone.  
“Hey Strider.” The phone was silent for a few minutes, they could only hear each others breathing.  
“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to call you stupid. I was just overwhelmed, you wouldn't listen to me and… I’m an ass.”  
“I know. It’s okay, I forgive you. I’m sorry too, I shouldn't have pushed you away. You were trying to help me.”  
“Kay, can I tell you something?”  
“Yea, anything.”  
“I think I love you.” The phone goes silent again. This time it’s tense, and fragile.  
“Dave. You’re just high. You’re just out of your mind fucking high. Go back to bed Dave. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”  
“But, Kay I-” The call ends. Dave is left dumbstruck, and Karkat is left crying.  
Karkat checks the clock, their conversation hadn't even lasted 10 minutes. He grabs a sharpie off of his night stand and begins to make lines on his arm. First a solid black line over the red line, and continuing up his arm until he got to his first line.  
He left this one, Terezi was special. Terezi was his middle school girlfriend, the only reason this one was a scar was because Terezi had died in a car accident. He had never told his father, and his father didn't pay enough attention to the world to notice that around the same time he lost a red line she died. Terezi was beautiful, and funny. She would sometimes be a bitch, but that was purely of circumstance.  
She was in love with someone else, but liked him enough to give it a shot. Karkat truly believed that Terezi could fall in love with him.  
Karkat had begun to sob, bringing back the memories of Terezi, along with the fresh sting of Dave was too much. Karkat pulled his legs up to his chest and bit his bottom lip as he sobbed heavily into his knees. When he pulled away he noticed the sharpie had smeared onto his calves. He sighed and stood up, Karkat was pissed at himself. He just took a shower five hours ago, now that he was crying and there was sharpie on his leg he’d have to take another shower. Not that he necessarily had to do it now, but he was already up, and from the lack of snoring echoing through the house his dad wasn’t home yet.  
He went to the hallway closet and grabbed a fresh towel, then back to his room to plug his phone back in.  
He undressed and stepped into the shower. He grabbed the dove off of the little shower shelf, and began to scrub his calves. Once the black streaks on his legs faded some, he began to work on his arm. He scrubbed hard and fast, turning the skin raw. The scar lines became more evident, as the black wore off. For some reason the black on the red line just wouldn't budge. This was a stupid idea, why would he stain his arm in sharpie, he was stupid when he was emotional. Karkat suddenly dropped his soap, as he realized why the black wasn’t coming off. He looked at his arm astounded, Dave wasn't lying. Dave wasn't lying. Karkat turned the water off and grabbed his towel. He ran up the stairs at the speed of light, bursting through his door and bounding to his phone. Four new messages.  
‘Karkat, I’m not lying to you.’  
‘Karkat, I really do love you.’  
‘Karkat, please don’t be doing anything stupid.’  
‘Karkat, you’re beautiful. You’re funny, and you’re smart. You make me question why I was afraid to love in the first place. I love you.”  
Karkat quickly clicks the call button, and after the first few rings Dave picks up.  
“Karkatdon’tdoanythingdrasticIwasn’tlyingwhenIsaidIlovedyou.” All of this fell out of Dave’s mouth like word vomit, he was unintelligible.  
“What? No, never mind. I just… Can you come over?” There was a shuffle of clothes on the other side of the phone.  
“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” The phone went dead and Karkat sat it back down on his bed. It was about 3:30 a.m., so at around 3:45 Dave would be here. Karkat got up and pulled his pajamas back on, then went downstairs.  
Karkat watched through the front window as the time passed.  
Even before 3:45 there was a knock on the door, Karkat had fallen asleep waiting. He opened the door expecting to see Dave. Instead, his father was standing on the other side of the wooden panel. Karkat stopped in his tracks.  
“H-hey dad. Wh-where, uh, where you been?” All he received was a grunt, and a shove to the side as his father entered the house. He smelled strongly of liquor.  
“Hey dad, do you want something to eat?” Another grunt and a glare.  
“Okay. Do you want a-” He was cut off by a hand suddenly slapping his face. It was the ringing sound in his ears that notified him at first, then the familiar sting on the side of his face that made his eye water reflexively. Karkat was hardly ever fazed by something so small as this, to him at least, it was common enough between them to be a normal greeting. It was what came next that actually hurt. His father punched him in the stomach, making him double over and brace himself on the floor. Dad then pushed Karkat on to his side and began to kick, he could feel his ribs cracking and he could taste blood in his mouth.  
“Dad, please. You’re hurting me.” A grunt, maybe of exertion because he kept going. Karkat didn't fight back, Karkat never fought back. Dad reached down and picked him up by his shoulders, and tossed him at a wall. Karkat hit his head hard enough to bust through the drywall. It was then he noticed that Dave was walking toward the open door. A look of pure terror crossed his face as he saw Karkats beaten rag doll body on the floor. His terror then morphed to anger, as he picked up a potted plant from the porch steps and threw it at Karkats father. It hit him with enough force to break, and change the focus of his attention. Dad was seething, and walking toward Dave. Karkat was terrified, Dave wasn't moving. Karkat had to put an end to this, hurting him was one thing, but Dave... Dave was a completely different situation. He pushed himself up, and crawled to his knees.  
“Hey, dad. We’re not done here.” I push myself up to my feet, wheezing in a breath. I can feel the bruises beginning to blossom. Dad looks dumbfounded, and like a lion just got handed the juiciest steak anyone will ever eat. He looked ferocious. Dad turned around and was walking toward him Karkat.  
“It’s one thing to beat and abuse me, but it’s another to do that to Dave who was only trying to protect me.” The first hit is a punch, it hits him in the jaw and he can feel his teeth rattle.  
“I may have put up with you this long dad, but do not touch my friends. Do not touch my Dave.” Karkat kicks his father in the knee using his heel, hearing an obvious crack. Dad falls down to the opposite knee, and the hurt one is lain out straight before him. Karkat kicks his father's shoulder, and he topples. It’s not nearly as glorifying as David and Goliath, but the dull thud that sounds when his father hits the floor is satisfying. Karkat places his foot over his father's throat, and pushes down.  
“All of the years I stayed with you, I loved you. I didn't have to. I made a choice. I’m making a choice now.” He pushes his foot down a little harder. His father is gasping for air.  
“I hate you, and everything you are. I’m going to let you live, and know everyday it’s your fault you’re like this. Not mine.” Karkat lifts his foot then kicks his father in the face, effectively knocking him out.  
He walks over to Dave, severely favoring his right side.  
“Hey Strider.” Dave seems to unfreeze then, and notice that Karkat is standing right in front of him.  
“Oh my god, Kay. Are you alright? No, fuck that, I’m calling an ambulance.” Dave pulled out his phone and began to dial, but Karkat pushed the phone away.  
“Kay what ar-” He didn't get a chance to finish. Karkat was kissing him, which was kind of difficult considering how almost the entire right side of his face was bruised awful shades of purples already. Karkat noticed Dave was crying.  
“Dave, what’s wrong?”  
“I’m happy.” Karkat smiled the best that he could and kissed him again.  
“I love you too Dave. Thank you.”  
“For what?”  
“You made me stand up to my father, not only that but you’re kissing me with a face like this.” Karkat says as he gestures to his face and winces.  
“I’m calling an ambulance.”  
“That’s probably a good idea.”

Three Months Later  
“Karkat, there’s someone here to see you.” The polite nurse says as Dave pokes his head around the doorway. Karkat smiles.  
“Let him in.” Dave walks in with a bouquet of violets, and lays them on Karkats lap. Dave leans down and gives Karkat a kiss, and Karkat smiles.  
The bruising on his face has turned green and yellow, instead of purple. His side also felt better considering that when he came in he had a punctured lung and not just cracked ribs. His head had been hit really hard, and they said he was lucky he didn't have brain damage. Hell, he was lucky to be alive.  
Today he was being discharged. Dave had been here every step of the way, so it was only fitting that he walk him to his new home. Dave and Karkat had decided that Dave's Bro would take him in until Karkat could get on his feet. Dave had explained the situation to his Bro, and without even batting an eye he’d said yes.  
Karkat got dressed with Dave's help, and checked him out of the hospital. Most of the nurses knew him by name, since he’d been here so long. He hoped he’d never see any of them again. Not that they weren't pleasant, but seeing them could only mean injury and he’s had enough of that for a few lifetimes.  
As they walked through the streets of the city hand in hand, they noticed things they hadn't before. Like how trees blowing in the wind look like they’re dancing, or how the sharp smell in the air meant that winter was closer than closer than they thought.  
When they got home, Dave unlocked the door and pushed it open. Dave's Bro was standing under a large white banner that had the words ‘Welcome Home’ painted on it in red. Bro blew a streamer, and smiled wide. Dave looked to Karkat with love in his eyes.  
“Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Bulimia, Cutting, Drug Abuse, Self-Loathing, Depression, Physical Abuse, Starving.


End file.
